Professional Development

Working in a remote location, it can be hard to keep up with professional development. This is where it is a benefit to be part of a large organisation, as we can organise our own times of PD. This happened a few months ago when the Linguistics Department put on a grammar workshop. Now, I know that to many of you that sounds like an event requiring a mattress and pillow so that you can catch up on sleep. For us ordinary working linguists (OWLs) though, it is a reason to celebrate. Rather than being  individually in our offices, bogged down in words and technical terms, we can come together to dissect and re-assemble our languages with the support and insight of others who have gone before us.

For a week we came together to discuss languages. It was a group of thirty people, from ten nations, who between us work with more than thirty indigenous languages from around the world. We refreshed our knowledge of grammar, and refined our understanding of how it applied to our specific situation. As a presenter would talk through a particular feature that is known to occur in the languages of PNG, we would each be mentally ticking off it applied to us, and sometimes breathing a sign of relief if it didn't. Maybe I have to learn to work with tone and the complexitities of an agglutinating language, but at least I don't have switch reference! I switched between moments of insight, of despair, and of hope. Insight because someone mentioned something that had previously had me confused and made things clearer. Despair because it seems like I will never get my head around the complexity of Kope. Hope, because enough people have succeeded at learning, describing and using similarly complex languages before me, that surely I will succeed too, eventually.

I have studied linguistics at a tertiary level at a secular university and at a school designed specifically to prepare me for the work I now do, but I continue to find grammar terms slippery, and their application to a specific language challenging.  Since as I'm currently in the enrolment process for the dissertation component of an MA in field linguistics, I am lining myself up to once again battle the terminology and theories, but with good reason. The reason is that in looking in detail at a language I am better able to understand and use it. By pulling it apart and putting it back together again, I can describe what is happening in the language. This then contributes to our general understanding of languages, and gives the community a sense of pride that theirs is a real (and complex!) language, worthy of research and description.

My Posh Village Life

Living in my off-grid eco-house in the village, I sometimes laugh at the aspects of my life which could be considered posh, but in reality are just me making life work with what I have where I am. Here are a few of the 'features' of my home…

Eco-housing… with complete ecosystems. Although my house of bush materials is locally sourced and very eco-friendly, it also comes with a complete ecosystem of spiders, geckos and strange rustling sounds in the roof. One day we even had a sunbird fly in the open eaves to pick spiders straight out of their webs as a breakfast snack.

Four poster bed… or rather, my mosquito net plus canopy. A mossie net is critical in the village, to keep out various members of the eco-system mentioned above. Not only does it keep out mossies, but gives me a sense of security from rats, bees, bugs, geckos and other critters. As my thatch roof ages, the bugs living there have been creating an increasing amount of droppings that fall straight through my net and onto my bed. To prevent this, I've attached a sarong/laplap to the top of my net, creating the effect of a four poster bed.

Prawns (and other seafood) for dinner! Fresh seafood, caught that day and delivered to the door. About the only downside to this is that I'm a bit of a wimp when it comes to putting live crabs in water and bringing them to the boil.

Water front views… delivered right to your door. We had a king tide in October, and over the course of a few hours we watched the water creep up, under our house, over our garden, and through the entire village. It was our only little piece of Venice. A slightly muddy, mosquito-esque Venice, but waterfront none-the-less.

Stand up desk.  I hear that standing up to work at your computer is a recommended practice these days. As we use the modem attached to our HF radio, the best place to put our computers is next to the radio, resulting in a stand up desk. Okay, so email via HF makes dial-up internet look fast (one day it was coming in at 10 characters a second, but 70 characters a second is more normal), but it's a stand up desk and email in the village!

 

Daily Bread

“Give us this day our daily bread” is a prayer that takes on new layers of meaning when living in the village. For the people around me, bread is a special treat, not a daily event. Daily sago on the other hand, is what makes a meal. In fact the word for sago is the word for food, as it’s not a real meal unless it involves sago.

Although I am from a more bread-based tradition, I still do not have daily bread in the village. Instead, I have Saturday bread, as that is the day on which I have time and energy for baking. With no stove, I make my bread in the frypan as a series of foccacias. With no refrigeration, I make enough bread for a few days, but not enough to start a mould farm. Fresh bread lasts three days, and even then it pays to double check for furry spots before eating lunch on Monday. After that I eat crackers for lunch until baking day comes around the following Saturday.

Even without daily bread, my daily needs are well met, which is what the prayer is really about. I am well set up in the village, with both the food I bring with me and the food others give to me. I am not in want and with a little forethought and planning, can have a healthy balanced diet. In fact, more often than not, my daily bread (or crackers) comes with my daily nutella, which is a luxury item, but one which softens the edge of each day J

Welcome Home

Returning to Ubuoo village after a seven month absence I was touched by the warm welcome that I was given. I came on the back of a string of other visitors, so there had been plenty of welcomes already that week, but still I received a warm and heartfelt welcome back. This was a huge encouragement to me as I transitioned back into field work after four months in Australia.

Almost everyone welcomed me with a big hug, even the men. People didn't just wish me good morning, but wished me a very good morning. One or two families who had been away said they had come back specifically because they knew that I was coming. How lovely!

At the same time, I was enjoying seeing people again, and realising how much people have become friends and family over the last 18 months. There was joy in once again being around the gentle generosity of Pastor Aduma, the firm hand shake of Pastor Mark, and the smile and fellowship of the Goiravi ladies. There was a lot of joy in coming home to Ubuoo.

A few weeks after returning to Ubuoo, I visited an Ubuoo friend in the village where she and her husband now live. Gabido did not know I was coming, so when she saw me round the corner by her house, it was a huge surprise. Her response was to stand on the top step smiling and dancing with tears in her eyes as she called out "Mo merebehe! Mo merebehe!" or "My daughter! My daughter!" I felt like the Prodigal Daughter, and it was only nine months since we'd last met!

The idea of home is increasingly complex for me, as is the definition of family, but returning to Ubuoo at the start of October, I knew that I had come home to my family, even while I had just been at home in Australia with my family there.

 

PS. Apologies for the lack of photos of late. I keep writing posts when I have little time and limited internet.

Feet of Clay

Living and working in Gulf Province I am well familiar with having my feet covered in mud and clay, but that is not my theme. Rather, it is the reality of my human fallibility as I put one foot in front of the other living my life and using my gifts in the way I can and the place where I have made my home. Do not put me on a pedestal, I do not deserve it!

Travelling in Australia for four months and speaking about my work to churches and other groups, I was encouraged by how much interest people had in my work, and humbled by the kind things people said about me. In many ways though, it is easier to live out my Christian faith in PNG than it is for my friends at home in Australia. I deal with challenges of power, water, communication and culture. You deal with disinterest and prejudice.

Here, people are interested in the spiritual world, and want to talk with me about God. They want the Bible in a language they can understand so that they can read it and make sense of it in their daily lives. At home, where there are many Bible options and Christian resources, raising the issue of Christian faith and life is not easy. I think this disinterest is a bigger challenge than the physical challenges I deal with.

Compared to PNG, Australia has a limited sense of the eternal. Here, most things tie in to a picture that stretches back to ancestors and forward to descendants. In my Australian home, "life is short and then you die" is the philosophy of many. To talk about a life lived for God now, and with God eternally, is not a popular topic.

In Australia, we are so rich in resources and opportunities that we forget our reliance on God. In PNG, that is a lot harder to forget. I am regularly faced with the reality of tasks and situations which are well beyond my means. Even the daily things of life are not guaranteed, and teach me to trust. It also shows me how much I try to rely on my own strength and planning, and not on God.

When it comes to a life lived by faith, we are all on a journey. I have my good days as well as my bad days, situations where I trust God and situations where I rely on human wisdom and practice. In this I am no different to anyone else. Knowing myself I know I do not deserve the pedestal that some place me on at times. I have feet of clay.

Being part of God's mission in the world is not about going to the other, although some of us are called to go across to the other side. It is about being salt and light in the world, wherever you are and whatever you are doing.  I am not the only one in mission, you are too, and I hope that we can inspire each other to keep putting one foot in front of the other as we walk by faith, each in our own situation.

‘you must’

Living and moving between worlds can be … interesting. It is full of challenges and joys, but rarely is it predictable. This was something I came up against while I was home in Australia for four months of furlough/home assignment and people would comment that ‘you must…’. I tried to be gracious about their comments, but how well I achieved that was closely tied to how tired I was.

The ‘you musts’ often were most often  a comment on the wealth of Australia and the very different lifestyle that is lead there. I do not begrudge others the opportunity to live by a different standard when they can. Yes, I did have points of being overwhelmed by choice or richness, but that does not in and of itself makes those things bad, just something I’d not had a lot of exposure to recently. Yes, I had times of longing that people in PNG had the same access to opportunities and resources that Australians have, but that does not mean Australians can’t have them.

Australia and life there is most certainly different to life in PNG, in either Ukarumpa or the village, but that does not make it bad. Neither does it make it right. It means it is something we always need to be willing to reassess and not take for granted. It also means taking stock of where our hearts are at in relation to our stuff.

 My village house, for which I am very thankful.

I found myself having to take stock of my heart-state when it came to houses. I am so thankful for my village house, where I have space and privacy. My water tanks, solar power, gas cooker and indoor toilet are greatly appreciated and give me an easier lifestyle than everyone around me.

When I leave the village though, and return to my home in Ukarumpa, I am so thankful for hot water, 240V power that run my fridge and washing machine, a flushing toilet, a soft couch, a comfortable bed and a lot less bugs in the house. I am truly happy with my village house, but appreciate the comforts of Ukarumpa when I return there.

Coming to Australia, I was reminded of how simple my Ukarumpa house is in comparison, that my couch is not really that soft and that my mattress could be improved. I had to stop and take stock, remind myself to be thankful for the incredible blessing of my two houses and not get caught up in comparisons that would only make me discontent.

 My Ukarumpa house, for which I am also very thankful.

Australia sure is different to PNG, but both are places that I love, even as I become more comfortable in PNG than in Australia. My home country is an old friend, whose quirks I know fairly well, and sometimes think of endearingly, and at other times with annoyance. It is an old friend who I differ with at times, but who I still love as she is, difference and all.

Alone, but not alone.

For the last year, I have been the only whiteskin working in my village. I have been alone, but not alone.

I have been alone, as being the only person from my social and linguistic background can be very isolating at time. At the same time, I have not been alone, as the community has been incredibly welcoming and I am surrounded by friends and family. It’s just that I’m still getting to know them. I am thankful that in being alone, I have been forced outside my comfort zone to build good friendships with the people around me.

With swamp-friends from Kapuna Hospital (A.Evers)

I may be alone in the village, but I have good friends in the region. With friends from both my own organisation as well as through the mission hospitals at Kapuna and Kikori, I have good friends in the region. We may not see that much of each other, but we are all in the swamp together, and understand the context, the challenges and the joys in a way that others cannot share. I am so thankful for my swamp friends, even if they’re three hours away by boat.

Although on my own in the village, I have a good support network in the country and beyond. Sometimes an Ukarumpa friend comes up on the radio for a chat, breaking my isolation and reminding me I am part of something much bigger than little ol’ me in my remote village. I am reminded that there are many people in many places who are thinking of me and praying for me, and that makes a big difference.

I am never alone, because God is with me. My favourite name for God has long been ‘Immanuel’, the reminder that God is with us. This name becomes true in deeper ways when one is feeling isolated. The only easy English conversation I can have in the village is with God, which is great for my prayer life and for living life by faith. Well, mostly. Mostly, because when alone and separated from the chatter and busyness that life usually has, I am forced to face up to myself, including to aspects of myself I might not like. It is good to discover these things and work on them, but it can still be very confronting at the time.

Alone, but with no one to compare my language learning to, I have also been isolated from competition, and that’s a very good thing. I find it very easy to be self-critical and to compare myself to others. When I am only comparing my progress to yesterday, not to someone else, I am much kinder to myself. Learning language is hard enough, without me being hard on myself.

Over the last year I was alone, but not alone, when working in the village. For the next 18 months I will be working in the village with an intern, Hollie, so I will no longer be alone. Yet, even though not alone, I hope I can still hold on to the lessons learnt while alone.

Chalmers

One person I am always hearing about in my area is James Chalmers. I’d never heard of him before I went to Gulf, but he is a local hero; the missionary who was killed and eaten while spreading the good news to the local populations, well over a century ago.

He is a hero and a martyr, but along with his co-worker Oliver Tompkin, he is also a scar. They died on April 8 1901, but their death seems to weigh heavily on some people, as they seek a formal reconciliation with the descendents of Chalmers and Tompkin*. Different reconciliation ceremonies have been planned, but each one so far has been cancelled for various reasons. Meanwhile, there are many men named James or Tompkin in my village, in memory of these martyrs.

One of the men I work with in the village wrote down the story that his grandmother told him about when Chalmers came to visit. She was seven years old, and this was the first white person she had seen. I have the story in writing, but am still building the language skills to really understand it. A century is not very long, in a strong oral culture.

Others tell of the dream that a leader had before Chalmers visited. They dreamed of a visit from a  guru mere , a thunder-child, and that when this thunder-child visited, that they should not touch him, or the thunder would come. When the man the colour of lightning visited, they did not touch him, but traded with him to receive salt and sugar and sent him on his way. In the coming months, at Goaribari Island, Chalmers and Tompkin went ashore to preach to a hostile group of locals. They were killed and eaten within the day. Some PNG missionaries working with Chalmers were also killed that day, but they rarely feature in the local stories.

The thunder did come, in the form of Australian troops sent in the wake of a Royal Commission into the death of the missionaries. Local stories paint a story of fear and massacre and tell of bullet holes being visible in trees many years later and cartridges being found buried in the earth after generations. Many had already fled the area, in fear of such retribution, but many had also stayed. From the little I know, it seems that even at the time people thought the retribution was out of proportion to the original crime.

More than a century later, these men are largely forgotten in the west, although in the years following Chalmer’s death he was placed on the same pedestal as David Livingstone** and there was a Royal Commision into their deaths. In Gulf Province though they are not forgotten but remembered and given credit for bringing the Gospel to the area, even though it cost them their lives.

  “The Reverend Jame Chalmers in 1895, six years before he was murdered and eaten by cannibals on Goaribari Island in Papua. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote of him that he was ‘the most attractive, simple, brave and interesting man in the whole Pacific.’”

Photo and quote from John Ryan (1969) The Hot Land:Focus on New Guinea, Melbourne:Macmillan.

Someone had the remains of a copy in the village, which is where I took this photo, but they did not have the verso page any more.

*My limited internet searching indicates Chalmers had no descendents and Tompkins may not have had any either, but reconciliation with the descendents of their extended family or of their counrty of origin, remains something people desire.

** Cuthbert Lennox (1902) ‘James Chalmers of New Guinea’ London: Andrew Melrose, p v.

Computing

With all the work I have been describing over the last few weeks, the end of the day usually finds me entering something into my computer to help me in my work. This week I thought I would give you an overview of some of the programs that I rely on.

With language learning, SayMore and Flex are the two I use. SayMore is designed to help with transcription of recordings as well as with keeping my metadata (information about the who, where and what of the recording) in order. When I return from the village, I have dozens of recordings that I need to work through. I put each of them into SayMore, add the metadata and start transcribing. The program allows me to break the recording into small segments, which it then plays on repeat while I listen and type. Once I have worked through the recording, I am able to export it to the next program, where I work on analysing and describing the content.

 SayMore screenshot

Flex, or Fieldworks Language Explorer, is the next program I use. Its purpose is to help with the analysis and description of a language, while also being good for helping to build and edit a lexicon of the language. I use Flex to type up all my language learning notes, stories I’ve collected and to analyse the recordings I typed in SayMore and then imported. It is a powerful program, which is computer talk for the fact most of us use the basic things but we’re pretty sure there’s lots more we have no idea about. I can use it to break the very long Kope words down into the smaller units of meaning (morphemes) to help me see what is actually going on inside this complex language. Also, as the computer has a better memory than me, I can build up my wordlist and then go back and search it when I’ve forgotten the meaning of a word, or the word that goes with a meaning.

Fieldworks Language Explorer screenshot

For translation, the two programs I use are Paratext and Logos. Paratext is the software in which I am building up the Kope New Testament. It is where I can enter the Kope draft and back translation, create an interlinear version, and consult the Greek text and notes from other translators about things I need to consider as we work. It also has a handy send/receive function that allows us to share the work between users and leave comments for each other. This means that once we are more established in our work, we can collaborate even when we are not in the same place.

Logos is an electronic library in which I have the Translators Workplace collection of books. There are many many more books available in Logos, but my budget has not yet stretched to include them. Still, the collection of Biblical commentaries, Greek helps and journals on translation that I can access with a click are a huge blessing. Seeing as I pay per kilogram for everything I fly to the village, this program gives me access to resources without my computer weighing a single gram more than it did before.

As I’m now also supporting the Anigibi tribe in the adaptation of the Kope drafts into their language, I have also been learning to use the program Adapt It. This is designed for exactly my situation, where a second project is started based on the work in another. Using the Kope as a source text, it makes it easy to adapt into Anigibi, as the computer remembers previous changes we have made and suggests them as appropriate. The more we use this program, the easier it will get, as it will have a database of changes to work from.

AdaptIt screenshot

With all of these programs there are problems, but usually the problems are PICNIC: Problem In Chair, Not In Computer. Sometimes though I am not at fault, but the computer has got too clever and made a wrong guess. I was confused by one of these when the suggested gloss for ‘piraromoido’ was:

pi-	r-	aromoi	-do
Past-	1P.SBJ-	heaven	-GOAL
‘I went towards heaven’ (kinda, not really)

All of these are legitimate units of meaning, but they do not belong together like this and did not match the context. Instead, the word should have been:

p-	iraromoi	-do
Past-	think	-DU.SBJ
‘they both thought’

A bit of a difference, but I am thankful to have the programs to help me sort this out.

Anigibi Adaptation

 Working in Ebegau (H.Schulz)

My third trip to work alongside the Kope people in translation was momentous enough, considering we started drafting Luke. We managed to complete the drafting and checking of two chapters, which is a fine effort for a translation team just beginning its work. This was apparently not enough for one trip though, as on the last day, another momentous thing happened when we visited the Anigibi.

The Kope translation team had been saying that the Anigibi should also have their own Bible, and that they should receive it at the same time as the Kope. The Kope and the Anigibi are closely related, both linguistically and socially, but have distinct social identities. They can understand each other when they talk, but their dialects have numerous differences. It is wonderful that the Kope care enough about the Bible, and about their neighbouring upstream tribe, to want to help them this way. It is also slightly scary when I can’t even speak Kope properly yet.

So, on the last day of my third village trip, we went to visit the Anigibi. We took with some of our drafts from Kope. I say some, as I did not have a printer in the village at that stage, and there was only so much of the good copy written out by hand that we could take with. Drafts in hand, we went visiting to see what people thought and how hard it would be to adapt the Anigibi into Kope.

 Working in Titihui (H.Schulz)

First we went to Ebegau village, the furthest upstream. We sat in the shade with members of the community, reading through the Kope and using a red pen to change it to Anigibi as needed. About every second word needed changing, but the changes were consistent. Once the changes were done, we re-read the whole thing in Anigibi, to many smiles from the gathering crowd as they heard the text so clearly.

Next we visited the village of Titihui. This is right bedside the airstrip I was flying out of later that day, and not far from Teredau mill where many Kope and Anigibi people work. Once again, we sat in the shade with our drafts and Tompkin, a Kope translator, worked through the adaptation process with some Anigibi people.

As we heard the plane circling to land, an hour earlier than expected, we grabbed my luggage, rushed through the last changes, looked at the threatening clouds and headed for the airstrip. Unfortunately the pilot had not received my message to stop at the river end of the airstrip, so we had to walk the length of the strip in the pouring rain for me to board.

Flying back to the Highlands, I was feeling thankful and overwhelmed. Thankful that the Kope were so keen to help their neighbours. Thankful that the Anigibi were keen to have God’s word in their language. Thankful that the adaptation seemed to be a straightforward affair. Yet overwhelmed, as I can barely speak Kope and had just been handed the responsibility of supporting another tribe to have the Bible. Overwhelmed because I have no idea how to go about that well, for although the adaptation process may speed up the drafting, there is still much work to be done in checking etc. Overwhelmed because two full on months in the village had just ended with a wonderful development, and a tropical drenching. Yet overall I was thankful, because God is more than able to make things happen, even when I am not.

Ebegau from the air…it’s a very small village! (H.Schulz)

Life and Death while Village Checking

During our two days of village checking in Bavi we sat in an open-sided longhouse between the village and the river. From there I could watch village life as it passed by, and village death too.

Firstly, from my perch I saw a young man have a seizure. His parents carefully looked after him, which was a sign to me that this was not a new thing. When I could, I went over to have a chat with his parents about their son, taking someone with to help me with translation.  I then started messaging my friend who is the doctor at Kikori Hospital, sending details about the boy, receiving questions in return and sending more information as I could. It was a medical consult by messenger that resulted in his parents being encouraged to take their son to see her when she next visited the area to do clinics. Hopefully they do!

Later in the day, a logging barge went past on the river. All the kids, and plenty of adults too, lined the river bank to watch it pass. It was lightly loaded and had no trouble navigating the sandbanks in the river.

Watching the barge go by (H.Schulz)

When the school day ended, teenagers who attend school a little further along the river started coming home. They would paddle along, tie up their canoe and walk home, paddle in hand. I was amused by this as I was once at their school as they arrived. As the canoes came in, they tied them in a flotilla, planted their paddles on the river bank and went to class. My school had a bike rack, they had a flotilla. Where I wandered along swinging my bike helmet, they wandered along carrying an paddle. It is the same concept in a different context.

Risking a finger while feeding

star fruit to the parrot (H.Schulz)

As we worked on the checking, a semi-tame parrot joined us. He danced in the rafters. He hopped down and investigated any food anyone had. He was chased away as a nuisance and he kept coming back, adding some colour to the day.

The saddest part of the parade of life was when it became a parade of death. A child in the village became gravely ill, and his home was right across the path from where we were working. People gradually gathered at the house, kids peering in at the windows and doors until they were chased away. This happened late in the day, and as we left for the evening to stay in the next village (Gibi) just along the river we did not know if the child lived or had died. As we left, the women who had been working with us went to pray with the family in their time of need.

During the evening and the morning, many rumours came our way. The child had died. The child still lived. It was not the child, but the mother who was dead or near death. There was no clarity, but the decision was made to cancel the second day of checking out of respect for the family. We packed ourselves up and prepared to head back to our own village, Ubuo’o. As we passed the village where we’d been working, Bavi, we stopped to pick up a team member who had stayed with his family there overnight.

As we pulled up to the riverbank we found that the child had indeed died, but that the family and the community still wanted us to proceed with checking and were waiting for us. The family of the child had even provided a mat for me to sit on to demonstrate that they wanted us there. So, we unpacked the canoe and got to work.

The village was in a sombre mood. The teens had not gone to school, but remained at home. Kids were being hushed into silence when they got carried away. As we did our checking, the sound of wailing came from the house across the path from us. There was also the sound of sawing and hammering as some men made a coffin for the child in the yard outside the house. We continued with our checking making sure our own noise levels were never too high or that we laughed at anything. Discussing the joyful story of Christmas with this as our backdrop and soundtrack was quite a contrast.

Village Checking

Another level of checking in Bible translation is village checking, which comes after advisor checking. This is where we take the checked draft to another village, to a group of people who have not been at all involved in the translation process, and see how they receive it. We took our drafts from Ubuo’o village to Bavi village, where we spent two days sitting with a small gathering from the community, going over the work we had done. This not only provides fresh ears to the checking process, but involves a broader section of the tribe in the translation process. Having broad ownership is an important thing.

As usual, our journey to Bavi and back had its moments. The canoe we travelled in was over full, so part of the way there, as we were about to round a corner and enter some slightly choppy water, we pulled over to the river bank and dropped some people off. They waited on the bank until the canoe could take us to our destination and then come back and collect them.

 In the canoe, when only half full (Ikobu)

The checking process we used on arrival is much the same as the advisor checking, as we read the text as a whole, asked comprehension questions and discussed the finer points that were raised. My ongoing frustration is that people have not learnt the art of summarising a story. When I ask for the big picture, I get all the details. I think I may be on a one person mission to teach my region how to summarise when appropriate! I was encouraged by how well the Bavi community got involved and approved of the translation work, but my biggest encouragement was in seeing the team who did the drafting take ownership of the process and reflect a number of the things which I had been teaching them.

One challenge that we often have is what words to use for introduced concepts. Although my Kope is a long way from fluent, I know that when I hear talk of ‘bogobogo made’ (white talk) that this topic has been raised again. This time it was raised concerning the use of ‘boromakai’ for ‘cow’, a term borrowed from the Tok Pisin ‘bulmakau’. They wanted to use ‘boomo’ or ‘pig’ instead. The problem is that Mary and Joseph were good Jewish parents and would never have laid their child in the pig-food-place. If we had a generic term for ‘animal’ in Kope we would use that, but we don’t (as far as I know!), so a cow-food-place it is. Counting and numbers are the other area where people were worried about using English numbers, but as their own counting system is limited, it is hard to use it beyond about three. Our compromise is that we write the number as a figure not a word, and leave the reader to decide how they’ll say it.

 Sitting in a longhouse in Bavi doing checking (H.Schulz)

When these two issues came up, the team who had done the drafting did a great job of explaining to the Bavi checkers why we had made the choices we had made. There was then agreement that these were the right words for the text.

Another challenge is that people want to use all the old words in the Bible, effectively creating the King James Kope version. As they do this to record the ‘pure’ language, I encourage them to write these words down for the dictionary instead, and to write stories using them that we can turn into readers. This way the words are recorded, remembered and used, but the Bible remains a source of clear communication. It was good to see the translation team talking about the need for the Bible to communicate, not just be a place to store old words.

The biggest area in which I could see the growth of the translation team was their graciousness is receiving feedback on their work. In a shame based culture, taking one’s work out for others to comment and critique is a risky affair. That the translation team accepted and appreciated the input of the Bavi folk was wonderful.